Writings, pics, music, arts and difficult conversations

Farewell Half Cup

The Thrill Went Missing

From South African Fields

They showed up for Messi, for Kaká, for Rooney and for Eto’o. But if it hadn’t been for Donovan, for Klose, Honda or Robben, they would’ve left empty handed.
Along with Sneijder and Robinho and Gyan and Drogba, this mid-rank bunch had to make it do due to the scarcities of this cup.
They all thought that Argentina against Mexico, Brazil versus Netherlands, Germany against England or Uruguay versus Ghana would be matches for the ages. But made of quiet desperation or a frenetic show of goals, none of them got in the league of the greatest ever played.
They expected fireworks from the clash of cultures, of offensive and unbound flair against the discipline of well-trained armies, of South American dribbling and improvisation to the European deference to experience and game plans. But came out each time lacking of what never even made it to Africa: the spark, a flash, the lightning bolt.The stars sent their look-alikes. The top teams, their holographic displays. And within arenas heavily insulated from the host continent, they played their bureaucratic diagrams on a field of artificial lines.
Robots impersonating flesh and blood referees faked their way through decisions, and many a faulty call ruined legitimate fair plays. In the end it was if we’re still living in Super 8 times, with no instant replay or high definition precision. Thus bad rules enforced on the moment were autocratically above any appeal for later change.
This was the most hollow of all editions of the World Cup. It packaged its history and sold it like soap. It used a hard-earned credibility to justify an unconvincing progression. And reduced its global democratic image to a catchy slogan with a borrowed native beat.
If this is FIFA’s idea for an arresting show, maybe it’s time for it to leave the stage. This game is already way too rich, way too static, and way too elitist to convey any resemblance of joy and communion. When it comes to this level, its main stars are simply too tired, too jaded, too unsold on the idea of doing it for country and glory.
And the colors of the game stripes are already fading. And the call for patriotism too embedded with carnage. And any sense of social justice is as alien as its potential for promoting art and substance over pomp and social rank.
Football as passion will transcend all this, of course. And so will its ability to encapsulate a life experience within 90 minutes or less. What it can no longer pass for is what used to be called authenticity. And that’s just fine. Just don’t pretend we don’t already know all about it.
They paid to see a sport show, not a sorry display of unjust rules and spoiled actors, pretending the high price of the ticket doesn’t also include an extra drop of their sweat. They came from distant places to get to know a bit more about this land. They left as if all they saw was a bad-drawn replica of what they’d left at home.
No different songs to sing, for the main attractions were mostly foreigners like them. No new language to learn because Coca-Cola or McDonald speak only one tongue and it’s native to nowhere. And, ultimately, not new human experiences because the majority of Africans could not even afford to see the games.
They’re leaving with something missing. Some wonder why they even bothered coming or packed back such a bitter sauce.
So, for the champions and their fans, our grandest congratulations. For everyone else, this game may no longer be worth the price of the ticket.

WILD HORSES

Harrowing Ride

Audio Portrait

East Village in the 80s through my answering machine. Greeting messages, friendly voices, a recorded ecstasy and many tongues were left on tape for me to remember. Now I'm sharing it all with you. Enjoy it.

World Cup
in S.Africa.
Remember?

Joyce's 'Ulysses'
as Graphic Novel

The illustration above is one of the plates of "Ulysses 'Seen,'" a high quality graphic adaptation by Robert Berry of James Joyce's masterpiece "Ulysses."
For those who never got around to read the long, uninterrupted, controversial June 16, 1904, conversation by Molly Bloom, Stephen Dedalus and others, that the great Irishman envisioned in Dublin, you won't have a better chance to do it.
And for those already familiar with the book form, it's another opportunity to appreciate this enduring work of literature through the eyes of a contemporary artist.
In either case, a few pints of Guinness to go along with it are absolutely optional.

EPITAPH

"Alone we are born, and die alone;
Yet see the red-gold cirrus
Over snow-mountain shine.
Upon the upland road
Ride easy, stranger:
Surrender to the sky
Your heart of anger."

FALSE ALARM

Desmodus

The Artist

Father & Son

Fireball Over Midwest Skies

COLL POLL

The Numbers Are In

Voting stations are closed at this time. The final tally was 13 votes in favor of Coll getting a cellphone and two against it.

MAY 19th IS COLL'S BIRTHDAY & HE WON!

This decision is final. Thank you all for participating. Coll's most heartfelt gratitude goes for the kind souls who voted in favor. For the two heartless hacks who were against it (you know who you are), a SWAP team graciously volunteered to pay you a visit first thing tomorrow morning. Stop by the front desk to request a waiver to present to your teacher, boss or dominatrix. Call your mother. Enroll in a charitable cause. Volunteer at a Soup Kitchen. Run to raise funds for Aids. This is our last broadcast. Please tune in for future promotions. This tape will self-destroy in five seconds. No further ado will come out of nothing. (5/19/2010)

MOTION

CLUTCH

Off-Key Note

Writings, pictures, videos, comments & more, edited by a writer, musician and world citizen living in downtown
New York City.
Acting gigs, a few screenplays and endless clashes with reality.
Brazilian by birth, multilingual by chance, cash strapped as usual.
Agnostic but partial to great soccer. Unmoved by sunsets, campaign speeches, the religious pull or any sure bet.Poor vision and lower back pain. A bottomless pit for a navel. Blue, cats, 9, left, heat and outer space.
Common ground needs not to apply. Not accepting advice at this time.

Naked City

“In Italy, for thirty years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo Da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love, five hundred years of democracy and peace – and what did they produce? The cuckoo clock.”

Slideshow

LAST WORDS

* - "Let's do it."GARY GILMORE, executed by firing squad in Jan. 17, 1977, by the State of Utah, for murdering a model clerk. He was the last person to be executed in the U.S. in that fashion until June 18, 2010, when Ronnie Lee Gardner was shot to death also by Utah.

Norman Mailer wrote "The Executioner's Song," which he called a "true story," based on the relationship he established with Gilmore, a confessed killer, and the state of affairs of the U.S. in the 1970s. The book doesn't shy away from the horrific facts surrounding his murderous spree, but in a way it tones them down and shifts the focus to the society's possible role as a fertile ground for such deviant behavior.